


I got a body to hide, I got a body on show

by silentGambler



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: And by happy ending I mean porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Worship, Canon-Typical Violence, Jason Todd Has Issues, M/M, Other characters are mentioned but aren't really relevant to the plot, Past Character Death, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Scars, Tim is very observant, but tbh don't we all?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 21:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20020954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentGambler/pseuds/silentGambler
Summary: Jason still has faint scars from before the Lazarus Pit, including his autopsy scars.





	I got a body to hide, I got a body on show

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this for waaaay longer than I planned. Thanks to sallyhowlett and Dan_G_Panterita for reading and rereading this until I was happy with it, love u guys.

The first time Tim notices the scars they’re both in the cave after patrol. Jason is coming out of the showers, drying his hair with a towel. Tim is looking over some evidence from another case and when he turns to ask something, he forgets his question right as he is about to open his mouth. Jason has thrown a pair of sweatpants on and decided not to bother with anything else for the moment. And as he’s stretching, leaning against the cool surface of the cave’s wall, the light hits his still wet skin just the right way to make his muscles —and the myriad of scars littering his side— more obvious. There’s more recent ones too, but Tim can’t remember ever seeing those faded marks trailing down his ribs. The words are forgotten and he can't help but stare. He’s slightly embarrassed as he realizes he’s not quite sure if he’s staring because of the newly found knowledge or his apparent weakness against a shirtless Jason.

"What? Did your brain finally blue-screened, Replacement?" The older Robin jokes as he drops the towel with the rest of the laundry and grabs his shirt from his bag, walking over to him. He’s grinning like he knows what he’s thinking.

Tim’s eyes follow him and he can catch the scars easily now that he's aware of them. There's a large, jagged one across his neck and a thick one near his hip that overlaps with the stitches he got a couple of nights ago. There is a thousand smaller ones all over his torso and arms, but Jason pulls his shirt on and Tim is reminded to look up. He’s talking before he even realizes it. "I thought you said you didn't have scars?" Jason’s grin disappears in an instant. He can’t keep his body from visibly tensing, but he schools his expression into an annoyed one, staring Tim down. 

"Did you hit your head or something? Because I think you might be malfunctioning, Timbo. Of course I have some, you were there with Dick when Alfred was patching me up."  
  
Tim frowns, shakes his head slowly, still unflinching under Jason’s glare. "I meant the old ones. I thought you said they had... That they were gone." Even with his shirt on and his arms crossed, Tim can catch a glimpse of a particularly long, clean scar near Jason's collarbone. It’s distracting. He tries to keep his eyes on anything but his skin.

"They are gone." Jason doesn't really snap or changes his tone much, but there’s a sharp finality in his words that isn’t lost to Tim. The subject is to be dropped immediately. “So, about those files..." 

Tim nods, lets the matter drop while he tells Jason what he’s found. But even long after Jason is gone from the Batcave, Tim can't stop thinking about the scars that he thought weren't there anymore. He mentally maps them over and over as he drags himself to his room and collapses on the bed. He thinks they might haunt him even in his dreams. Right before he falls asleep, he wonders if they still haunt Jason. 

* * *

  
  
Jason has been shot and is bleeding all over the place the next time the scars pull at Tim’s attention. His armor has been taken off and the undershirt ripped to let Alfred fix the gaping wounds in his side while Tim gets him hooked up onto the equipment and IV. He’ll live, but the bullets are still inside and they need to get them out. So Tim gets painkillers for Jason and helps Alfred pick out the metal out of him.  
  
Even after the drugs start to kick in, Jason hisses in pain and tries to jerk away from time to time. They do their best to keep him still to stop him from making his wounds worse. And once the bullets are out, Tim takes up the duty of cleaning and bandaging the wounds while Alfred goes upstairs to wait for Bruce. Jason keeps going in and out of consciousness the whole time he’s finishing patching him up. Tim’s hands still over a scar on Jason’s side, one that could have been a huge scar once, but now it’s barely noticeable. The outline is still clear enough. Tim traces it slowly with the tips of his fingers, wondering how the fuck did he even get this. 

Jason's voice is kind of slurred by sleep and painkillers, but Tim understands him just fine, "Second-degree burn. Or third. Hell if I know."  
  
The information clicks instantly. Of course. "The warehouse?" He shouldn't ask; he knows Jason jokes about it more than people deem is acceptable (more than Bruce can handle), but his death is mostly an off limits topic for the rest of them. He lets details slip, but he’s usually very good at keeping that particular experience to himself. Tim gets it. He probably shouldn't bring it up, especially not while Jason is tired, wounded and feeling like hell in general. But painkillers make Jason less likely to strangle Tim, so he risks it. He might never get another chance like this. 

Jason doesn't move or even react for a while and Tim thinks he’s fallen asleep. But then Jay shifts and he speaks again in a raspy, tired voice, "You don’t want to hear about it. Trust me." Jason turns his head away from him. He doesn’t linger enough to see the pained expression in Tim’s face.

"I'm sorry." Tim has no idea why he’s whispering now. 

A pause. Then, a rasp, "Me too."  
  
He watches Jason fall asleep shortly after. Tim stays up for a couple more hours. He wishes he could say he’s done something productive, but he mostly spends that time counting the faded scars on Jason’s skin until he can't keep his eyes open and exhaustion catches up with him right there on that chair. That night, Tim dreams his own skin is burning and healing and burning in a never-ending cycle. He dreams of dead men with rasping voices that make them sound like they’re choking on smoke.

* * *

  
Next time they meet, it’s chaos. They’re both high on some toxin and they’ve chased each other through half of Gotham’s rooftops, crime-fighting forgotten in favor of trying to beat each other to a pulp. It’s a mess of blood, bullets and carnage. Tim is snarling like a rabid wolf as he throws Jason off himself and over the ledge of the roof they’re currently on. He can hear him grab onto the fire escape and he runs, jumping down on Jason to finish him off. But Jason is faster and grabs Tim out of the air by the ankle, smashing him through the nearest window. Tim is sent flying into an abandoned apartment and skids to a halt with glass shards digging into him. Red Hood follows closely behind.

Tim rolls into another room and out of view just before bullets fly his way, guided by the sound of cracking glass. There's faint static in Tim’s ears, but that's not important right now. All he knows is that he has to beat Jason until he stops moving and when he does, everything will be as it should. He presses himself closer to the thin, moldy wall, breathing harshly. Waiting. 

Jason's steps echo through the empty room. The closeness makes the toxin in Tim's veins roar, makes him pounce as soon as Jason appears at the door. They fall, twisting and rolling until Tim manages to land on top of Jason. He grabs him by the collar and smacks his head hard against the ground. And while that gets him to let go of his guns, the pain only makes Jason snarl and thrash under him, trying to throw Tim off. Tim holds him down and reaches for the garrote he knows Jason keeps in his jacket, pulls it taut against his enemy’s neck. 

That doesn’t even stops Jason at all. He yells in Tim's face, wire cutting into his skin as he tries to reach up to– Tim has no idea what he plans to do, but in his delirium he thinks Jason might rip his throat out with his teeth. But he can’t get close enough, not with the wire digging into his neck. Jason’s eyes lose focus behind his mask as his skin becomes red and blood blooms, expression growing panicked as the effects of the toxin begin to fade. He moves back so fast he hits his head on the floor once more. 

Tim feels it in his own body, how the frantic need to kill Jason fades slowly, ebbing away like the blood dripping from Jason’s throat. He lets go as if he had been burnt. Tim can only stare horrified as Jason coughs and goes limp under him. He looks sickly pale in the dark, with only the neon lights from outside the apartment to illuminate them. His neck is viciously red where the wire cut him. It's not too deep, Tim stopped in time, but he’ll still need medical attention. Neither of them is even sure if Dick or Bruce are still keeping up with them to try and stop the effects of the toxin, but Tim hopes they’re somewhere close. He fumbles but manages to click on the emergency signal in his suit. 

"Jason. Jay, I’m– I'm so sorry." Tim croaks as he scrambles for something to help stop the bleeding. Jason only grins bitterly and lets out a low rumble of laughter that gives Tim goosebumps.  
  
(It's later, once they're back in the cave and they’ve had their wounds taken care of, that he tells Tim, "Now I'll have a matching scar to remember you by.")

* * *

Jason does remember. He’s out of combat for a few weeks while his neck heals completely (Alfred asked him to rest and so Jason listens, because he can’t say no to Alfred). But eventually he’s back on the streets and Tim is slightly worried about meeting him in the aftermath of their toxin-induced fight. He is almost convinced that his paranoia is unfounded when, finally, Jason comes to him after weeks of radio silence. 

Tim notices he’s being followed halfway into his patrol, but he lets whoever is stalking him think he’s not aware of it. It’s until he catches the gleam of red reflected on a nearby window that he feels his pulse spike. He tries to reassure himself that Jason is not looking for a fight. The notion immediately falls flat and he wants to laugh hysterically because, when is Jason not looking for a fight? And if he’s letting Tim know he’s the one trailing behind, it’s completely intentional. 

So Tim pushes on. He goes on with his patrol trying his best to ignore the burning stare in the back of his head and the increasingly strong feeling in his gut telling him he’s going to get stabbed in the kidney as soon as Jason gets tired of playing cat and mouse. But Tim makes it to the end of the night in one piece. He stops on a rooftop to catch his breath and a few moments later he hears the dull thud of boots behind him. He’s really hoping this doesn’t end with him thrown off the roof. Again.

Jason makes his way over to him without saying a word. And Tim, against his best judgement, doesn’t turn around. He follows the sound of his steps and the slight static that comes from Jason’s labored breathing under the helmet, but he keeps looking at the city. Braces himself. The attack is coming, he can feel it in his bones.  
  
(His old scar, the one that stretches around his neck like a pearl necklace, screams at him. As if trying to warn him. Tim doesn’t want to listen.)  
  
A hand wraps around the back of his neck and Tim is pulling out his staff as he hears the following hiss, but he just holds onto it, not clicking the mechanism that will unfold the weapon. He has the feeling he needs to wait for something, but it’s ridiculous; he shouldn’t wait for the knife. Tim feels fingers moving up, pulling at his hair, drawing his head back until his neck is exposed and he can see Jason looming over him. His back hurts. Jason’s helmet is gone, no mask underneath today. There is a storm behind his eyes and Tim would be terrified if he didn’t think Jason is breathtakingly beautiful when he looks at him like that. Tim opens his mouth to say something, although he’s not sure what exactly, but Jason beats him to it. 

“You’re lucky we were delirious.” He says, fingers tightening around his hair; it's starting to become painful in a good way, Tim is ashamed to admit. Jason’s armor is just low enough that he can see the still somewhat raw skin he left there. It makes Tim’s stomach churn because of what could have been, what would have happened if the toxin hadn’t worn off in time–  
  
(Jason’s eyes rolling back into white. Jason’s neck overflowing with red. Jason choking on his own blood. Jason dead under his hands.)  
  
But he also feels a pang of something that feels twisted and wrong and yet–  
  
(Tim’s fingers tracing his own skin, his scar. Thinking of Jason. He vividly remembers. He’s thinking of the scar he’s now left on Jason’s skin and shuddering as he hears a hoarse whisper, “Now I’ll have one to remember you.”)  
  
Jason still has him twisted backwards, hand firm, his eyes dangerous, and Tim can’t tell if he’s going to slit his throat or not. The pulse underneath his skin is thunderous.  
  
Jason‘s smile is sharp like broken glass and hunting knives. He kisses Tim, kisses him hungrily and unexpectedly and all that Tim can think is ‘oh’.  
  
When they part, Tim is too dazed to do more than stare dumbfounded at Jason. And maybe Jason sees something other than bewilderment, because his grin turns into a snarl and the emotions in his eyes are shuttering, hiding, in an instant. No, Tim doesn’t want them to go away; he wants to see it all. But Jason is retreating and the grip on Tim’s neck gives away. He’s leaving. He thinks he did wrong and Tim can’t let him go with that thought in mind.  
  
So he whirls around and grabs Jason by his armor, crashes into him. Tim kisses him before he can slip away. He returns the hunger Jason gave. He is fairly certain someone moaned, but he doesn’t really care if it was Jason or him, because fuck. He’s wanted to do this for longer than he’ll ever admit. So now it’s Tim who grips Jason by the neck and kisses him like he can’t think of anything more important than to press their lips together.  
  
When they break apart, neither of them can look away. Jason has been stunted into silence, a feat that Tim would gladly make a smug remark about if only he could think properly for a second. Instead they are both breathing heavily, trying to regain their footing as quickly as possible. The tense lines of Jay’s muscles have minutely relaxed.  
  
“Do you want to continue this away from bat eyes?” Jason asks in a low rumble, gaze never leaving Tim’s. Hungry. Worried. Amazed. The emotions are fleeting, but it’s all right there in Jason’s eyes. Tim nods a little too wildly and his hand finds Jay’s; he doesn’t complain when the older Robin drags him off the rooftop and into the night, off to the closest safehouse he has. 

Gotham can wait for a little while.

* * *

Tim sits on Jason’s lap, kissing him with ease while his hands roam the body underneath. He traces scars and burns and stitches as Jason draws small circles on his hips with his thumbs. It feels like they’ve done this a million times, even though realistically speaking it’s been just over a month. Jason still can’t quite believe this is an actual thing that is happening. Not that he’s complaining; the way Tim’s hands wander over his body has been feeding into the heat pooling in his lower belly, steadily making him hard. At least until a particular scar seems to catch Tim’s attention and he pulls away from the kiss so he can take a better look. Jason immediately feels his breath catch in his throat as he feels Tim’s fingers press lightly into the scar tissue.  
  
It’s a long, slightly raised but clean line that goes straight up from his belly up through the middle of his torso and then splits at his sternum into two identical diagonal lines that stop near each of his shoulders. There’s newer scars crisscrossing over it and it’s faded, but the very distinct Y shape of the cut is familiar to both of them and Jason knows it. Tim frowns slightly, fingers running softly over it again and again; he’s looks almost afraid to ask. Jason can’t blame him. He is completely tense under Tim’s touch, clearly trying not to show how uncomfortable he is without much success, judging by the way Timothy looks between his face and his chest a couple of times before actually asking.   
  
“Is this from…?” His voice is soft and he trails off, not daring to finish his thought.  
  
Jason knows how to fill in the blank; of course he knows. And yet he winces at the question. He considers ignoring it, lips pressed into a displeased line, but ultimately decides to speak. “The morgue.” he attempts to make his tone nonchalant, but he can’t hide how much he hates it, “Yeah, they opened me up, spilled my guts, stitched me back up. Threw me into a body bag or whatever and sent me on my way.” He’s aware of how his own fingers are digging painfully hard into Tim’s hips, but he’s not complaining about it. He’s just staring at Jason, emotions moving like quicksilver across his face.  
  
Of course he’s seen the files. How could he not? There’s nothing you can hide from Tim Drake if he’s interested enough. And even if he hadn’t touched the reports, he must have seen the sharp lines of the autopsy scar on his chest before. Recognized them from other cases where he’s seen dead bodies. Jason feels his skin now burn with shame, suddenly extremely self-conscious in a way that is more frequent than he’d like to admit.  
  
"Can we forget about it?” He refuses to meet Tim’s eyes, teeth gritted as he speaks, “I look awful, I know, I just— I'll go get a shirt or something." Jason tries to push him off his lap but hesitates as another thought crosses his mind. Maybe Tim is too put off by the reminder that Jason is probably not the most normal guy to be jumping into bed with. “If you want to keep going, that’s it.” He tells himself that he won’t be hurt if Tim decides he doesn’t want anything to do with him ever again. 

(It’s a lie. Just the thought of it cuts him so deep his chest physically aches, right under the fucking scars.)  
  
Tim stops Jason before he can push him off his thighs and grabs his shoulders firmly, "I do. Want to continue, that’s it. If you’re ok with that. And you don’t need to cover up, it’s ok."  
  
Jason stills and gives him a wary, unconvinced look. He tries to find the disgust in Tim’s eyes, but finds a soft expression on his face instead. 

"If you want to put on a shirt, then go ahead.” Tim says as he presses a kiss to his temple. “But I don't want you to cover up because you think I want you to. I am sorry I brought it up, because I know you rather not think about that."

Jason stares at his boyfriend in silence, astounded. The last thing he expected was an apology. Tim can probably see the tension in his face and body slowly seeping away, because a small smile quirks his lips. Finally Jason sighs and settles back onto the pillows, stops trying to dig Tim’s hip bones out with his nails. "Okay. Fine." He feels a bit fidgety even after Tim has told him it’s alright; he picks it up immediately, it seems, because a determined sort of glint appears in his eyes.  
  
The pads of Tim's fingers skim over the scars again, slow and careful, but full of intent. Jason feels a little weird after all that has been said, but it's Tim— he trusts him. So he closes his eyes when he feels his boyfriend press a kiss to his lips, relaxes as his hands wander up and down his chest tracing the old wounds. Tim shifts and they break apart, only for him to move to his jaw, down his neck and on to his chest, kissing his skin as he moves lower and lower.  
  
The moment Tim’s lips touch the point where the three scars meet, Jason unconsciously tenses underneath him, eyes snapping open. In response, Tim deliberately trails kisses up each of the lines that move up to his shoulders before going back to the center and continuing his attentions down towards his stomach. Jason can’t help the shivers; it’s a strange sensation to have Tim doing this, but it’s not an unwelcome one. The attention currently being given to his old wounds is much different than what he’s used to.  
  
Tim reaches the end of the line, pressing his nose to the flushed skin before looking up at Jason and licking his way back up to his chest with the flat of his tongue. That gets a hiss from Jay, his back arching as the wet warmth lingers on his skin. He’d be mad about Tim’s smug grin if he wasn’t so keen on him doing that again.  
  
“I love you.” Tim says, lips almost completely pressed against his collarbone. It almost looks like he’s trying to push the words under his skin. “I know you don’t like them because of what they remind you of, but...” He lets his eyes flutter shut for a second, his lashes trickling his skin, before he’s staring up at Jason again. “They also show that you‘re alive now. And I’m happy for that.”  
  
Jason is sure his face is showing just how much Tim’s words are making his heart ache in a completely different way than before. He is trying to say something in return, but his voice is not working properly. His whole brain is kind of bailing on him right now.

Tim, maybe knowing that Jason can’t deal with this sort of heartfelt confessions out of the blue, kisses the spot right over his pulse and adds, “Besides, you look so hot without a shirt. I’ve wanted to lick every single one of your abs since forever.”

That finally gets Jason to relax. He barks out a loud laugh and pulls Tim up to kiss him deeply, laughter still rumbling in his chest. “Really? Good and proper Timothy Drake-Wayne fantasizing about licking my abs in the middle of corporate meetings? What will the public say?” Jason’s aiming for scandalized with his tone, but the huskiness betrays him a bit. His fingers are buried in his boyfriend’s messy hair as he bites his lip. The warmth in his belly makes itself known again.  
  
Tim smiles smugly again and traces Jay’s jaw with his finger, “So me telling you I love you is ok but I can’t admit this?” He's fake-offended, Jason can tell, but he keeps the bad acting.  
  
“Of course. We all know you’re a hopeless romantic, but the Wayne heir having a kink for abs? That’s gonna sell well.”  
  
There’s a snort of laughter and then Tim’s whole disposition morphs to downright obscene as he leans back to sit right on top of Jason’s half hard dick, grinning slyly as he caresses Jason’s chest as his hands travel down to his hips. “Well, they’ll certainly be shocked when they hear about how much I’ve thought about you fucking me on the conference room.” 

" _Fucking hell,_ replacement.” 

Jason kind of wants to know how many times has Tim thought about this, about licking and biting his skin like he’s doing now, but he is already busying himself with getting to know his abs intimately. And his hands, _god_ — his fingers cup Jason through his sweatpants and the heel of his hand rubs against the growing erection. And he knows the fucker is enjoying teasing him, because he can feel him smiling against the curve of his hip.  
  
By the time Tim finally crawls up to kiss him on the mouth, Jason is breathing harshly and rolling his hips trying to get some friction. His boyfriend laughs into the kiss and presses his ass back down onto him, causing them both to moan loudly. Tim kisses him deeply, stealing away what little breath he still has in him and then disappears from the bed. Jason groans loudly and pushes up onto his elbows to see him looking for something in the drawers where he keeps his clothes. Shortly after, a bottle of lube gets tossed and falls next to him.

"Well? Are you going to come and fuck me or will I have to do it myself?” Jason drawls but his dick pretty much betrays him as it pulses with interest as soon as Tim is back in bed and running his hands over Jason’s thighs. 

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Tim says with a grin as he grabs the sweatpants and drags them down, letting Jason’s cock free to jump onto his belly.  
  
Jason can’t help but feel proud at the way Tim bites his lip as he smiles when he sees how hard he is already. He helps him get his pants completely off while Tim reaches for the bottle and pours the lube onto his hand. He warms it up and slicks his fingers before pressing one to his entrance. Jay opens his legs further, letting Tim get closer and giving him room to work him open.  
  
“Fuck, if you could look at yourself right now.” He whispers and leans to kiss Jason on the corner of his lips. “I love seeing you like this.”  
  
There’s a shiver that goes through Jason’s whole body at the words. Tim kisses his way down to his neck and then to his scar once more, licking from the center of his chest to his shoulder. Jason promptly moans as his boyfriend pushes a second finger inside of him. He can feel his dick leaking onto his stomach, pre cum smearing on Tim’s skin too.  
  
“You’re so good, Jay, you’re doing perfect.“ Tim sighs as his fingers open him up, pulling out and pushing in with more ease each time. A third finger follows after a while, working him open tantalizingly slow. By the time Tim’s pulling his fingers out and getting up to get rid of his pants, Jason feels like he’s burning. 

Tim grabs him by the thighs with an almost surprising amount of energy, grinning as he closes in to kiss and bite his lips. Jason can feel fingers circling his entrance, teasing him before the head of his cock presses against him. Tim begins pushing in, nipping at Jason’s neck and whispering praises against his pulse. His hands rest on Jason’s thighs, nails digging into the flesh; the muscles there are so thick that Tim can’t really cover much of them. The knowledge makes Jason grin for a moment. 

Slowly, teasingly, Tim fills him; his hands have wandered up to his chest and the pads of his fingers rub against his nipples before finding the pale lines of his scars. It’s almost too much for him, but Jason refuses to close his eyes. He can see his boyfriend’s enthralled expression, his pupils almost eclipsing the blue of his irises. It makes him want to kiss him until neither of them can breathe. 

Before he can even try and pull Tim in again for another kiss, the little fucker pulls out almost completely and thrusts in fast, surprising Jason and earning himself a startled moan. Timothy is biting back a laugh.

Tim thrusts again, pushing deeper; now that he’s expecting it, he can hold back his groans much better. Jason does breathe out an ‘I hate you’ that is quickly followed by a roll of his hips, so Tim doesn’t take any offense at all. Instead he leans down to kiss the base of his neck and leaves a bite behind. 

The rhythm picks up, growing faster and harder, just like Jason likes it. His legs are wrapped firmly around Tim’s waist, holding him in place while the smaller man grips his hips, occasionally wandering up and down his thighs. Jason moans and curses in a completely wrecked voice, which only seems to encourage Timothy to fuck him harder. Not that he’s complaining at all. He feels the edge of his orgasm begin to crawl closer and closer.

Tim has found just the right spot to make Jason’s mouth fall open in a silent groan, his hands claw for purchase. And he may be smaller, more slender than Jason is, but he’s stronger than he looks and loves reminding him of it. Tim pushes deep inside him and kisses him hungrily, pushing Jason over the edge. He comes with a broken moan against Timothy’s lips. It doesn’t take much more for Tim to come too after that.

As soon as he pulls out, Tim all but falls on the bed next to him. He seems as breathless as Jason feels, but he must have more energy than what he shows, because he wastes no time rolling on top of Jason once more. Tim is on his stomach, face level with his abs once more, and he shoots him a quick smirk before his tongue darts out and he laps up the mess of come on Jason’s skin. 

“Fucking- Tim!” Jason grabs onto the bed sheets with one hand and threads the other in Tim’s hair, pulling him closer. And Timothy fucking Drake keeps licking him clean and looking so smug about it that Jason wouldn’t be surprised if this alone makes him hard again. He’s not against the idea. But Tim rights himself and licks his lips with a satisfied smirk, escaping Jason’s grip to plop besides him and curl into his side.

“So,” Tim begins, chin on his chest. Jason looks down to meet his gaze, frowning slightly in confusion. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Are you still outing me with the media by telling them about me fantasizing about you during work hours?” 

Jason snorts and cradles Tim’s face to pull him up for a kiss that is anything but decent. And when he breaks away, he’s smirking against Tim’s lips, “Well… you could always try to convince me not to do it, of course.”

“Of course.”


End file.
